


On the Shores of Avalon

by BeneaththeHalo



Series: Merthur Party [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Merlin grieving for Arthur, Merthur Party, Merthur Party 2013, Post Diamond of the Day, Team Orange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneaththeHalo/pseuds/BeneaththeHalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is dead and gone. Merlin's heart and soul have been torn in two. His home can no longer be his home, haunted as it is by memories of Arthur. And so he sits on the shores of Avalon and waits, for his king to rise again, and for Merlin to be whole once more.<br/>My submission for Merthur Party 2013 Prompt 5- Not the End. Go Team Orange!</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Shores of Avalon

Merlin never returned to Camelot after Arthur’s death. How could he? That was the place he and Arthur had been together _every single day_ for the past ten years of their lives. Every room, every corridor, every alcove had a memory of Arthur, and it was more than even Merlin could handle.

He had had to let everyone back at Camelot know about the king’s death. They deserved that, at the very least. But Merlin could not, _would not_ , go back to Camelot without _him_. So he had sent a message to Gaius, summoning his mentor to Avalon. Neither of them had needed words when the physician had arrived. He’d just taken one look at Merlin’s tear-stained face, looking lost and scared and so _alone_ , and he knew. He took Merlin into his arms and held him close, and the warlock couldn’t help but tear up again, crying onto Gaius’s shoulder. Merlin had never known grief to be so painful and so horrible, but he had also never expected to lose Arthur. Not this early. Not like this.

“I failed…” Merlin finally whispered. “Gaius, I failed.”

“No, Merlin,” Gaius said, pulling away from Merlin so he could look him in the eye. “You did not fail.”

“But he’s dead…” Merlin couldn’t help but look out over Avalon, where Arthur now dwelled, Excalibur in hand. Right before Merlin had thrown the sword into the lake, he’d stared at it, thinking about the power it contained. It was the only weapon that could kill Morgana, a high priestess (Mordred’s sword having been destroyed). And it was the only weapon that could end the life of an otherwise immortal soldier: Merlin. For one long, horrible moment, Merlin had considered driving the sword into his heart and joining Arthur in Avalon. But the Great Dragon’s voice had sounded in his head: _take heart, for when Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again_. Arthur would live again one day, and Merlin would be there when he rose. He had to be, not just for his own sake but for Arthur’s as well. So he had thrown the sword into the lake, but now, thinking about the endless years stretching out in front of him without Arthur, Merlin regretted it.

“He’s dead, and I have to go on without him,” Merlin said. “And I did fail. We never got a chance to bring peace and magic back to Albion.”

“Magic is already returning, Merlin,” said Gaius, and Merlin turned to look at him again, surprised. “Gwen knows. Out of everyone, she alone figured out that it was you who saved us all at Camlann. She has already vowed to remove the old laws. Once she’s finished grieving, of course.”

_Guinevere._ Merlin felt horribly guilty when he realised he’d forgotten about her. She may have been Arthur’s wife and queen in name only, and not his lover, but she still loved him with all her heart. She would be devastated. “Does she…?” Merlin began, but then he trailed off, unable to finish.

“No,” said Gaius, shaking his head. “But I think she started to suspect, when-” it was Gaius’s turn to cut himself off now. “I’m not sure I should be telling you this, now.”

“What is it?” Merlin asked, but Gaius said nothing. “Gaius, tell me!”

“Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine rode out after Morgana, to try and stop her from reaching you and Arthur,” said Gaius, before taking a deep breath. “Only Percival returned alive.”

Merlin felt like the little breath he had left had been knocked out of him. “He… Gwaine’s dead?” _It couldn’t be…_ Gwaine had been such a constant in Merlin’s life, always there to make him laugh and support him no matter what, and now he was dead? This just wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” said Gaius. “I wish I had better news for you.”

“Well, nothing can make me feel any worse,” said Merlin, turning away from Gaius again and moving so he was standing right on the edge of the lake. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel so empty.” Merlin felt like a great piece of his heart had been torn out, and he knew it would never be repaired. Not until Arthur rose again.

“You and Arthur were more to each other than nobody else could ever imagine,” said Gaius. It wasn’t until Merlin remained unmoving that Gaius realised. “You’re not coming back to Camelot, are you?” he said.

“No,” said Merlin without turning around. “How can I? Everything there reminds me of him. That castle and that kingdom are what Arthur and I had together, and I- I just can’t _be there_ without him. It just feels so _wrong_.”

“I understand,” said Gaius. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted. “I might go stay with mum, for a while.” Gaius heard the words that went unsaid, though: _I will always come back to Avalon. I can’t leave him. I can never leave his side._

“I must head back to Camelot,” said Gaius. “The queen will be waiting for news.” He paused, hoping that Merlin would change his mind about staying behind, but the warlock didn’t move. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

Merlin turned around then, realising this could very well be the last time he would ever see Gaius. His mentor, his guardian, a man who had given him so much and had been a father to him. Someone he could never thank enough. “I’ll miss you,” he said.

“And I you. Now come here,” said Gaius, holding out his arms. Merlin instantly complied, albeit with slow movements. He and Gaius held each other close for several long moments before pulling away. Merlin couldn’t help but notice the tears in the corners of Gaius’s eyes, and felt a pang of guilt shoot through his heart. “Goodbye, Merlin.”

“Goodbye, Gaius,” said Merlin. “Tell… tell Gwen, and Leon and Percival that I’ll miss them. And I’m sorry.” As Gaius turned and walked away, Merlin had to turn away too. He couldn’t watch Gaius leave, knowing that he’d probably never see him again. He just couldn’t.

Instead Merlin went back to the shores of Avalon and fell to his knees. He couldn’t stop the tears now; something had broken within him, and now he couldn’t hold them back. _No man is ever worth your tears_ , Arthur had once told him. Well, he’d obviously never imagined Merlin losing him.

Merlin knew there would be a public memorial for Arthur’s death. How could there not be? Arthur had been the greatest king Camelot had ever and would ever know, and his people would want to say goodbye. Merlin did not attend, though. Instead he remained at Avalon, sitting on the shores, his knees held to his chest, and he watched. And he waited.

Gwaine’s funeral was a whole other matter. The funeral hadn’t been in Camelot itself, as Merlin had realised when he’d sensed the movement of a great number of people. He’d managed to drag himself to his feet and go to investigate, being careful to remain undetected. Once he’d realised what was going on, though, he couldn’t stay away.

And so a lone figure had appeared on the edge of the crowd, wearing a hooded cloak to hide his face. No one paid much attention to him; they were too busy morning their friend. When the funeral ended, though, and the crowd dispersed, the figure remained where he was. Queen Guinevere, now ruling alone, turned around and caught sight of him. At first she thought it was some enemy, come to kill her when she was at her most vulnerable. But then she studied them more closely, and she realised.

Gwen gasped, her hand flying to her chest. Tears danced in her eyes, and she half-reached out with her other hand, as if to grab a hold of him. “Merlin!” she cried out. “Merlin!”

The figure looked up at her, and his hood fell away. It _was_ him. Gwen would always recognise that face and those blue eyes, even after it had been consumed by the grief that came with the loss of his soul mate. “I miss you,” she whispered, choking back tears. It shouldn’t have been loud enough for anyone to hear, but then again, Merlin was not like anyone else.

“I miss you too, Guinevere,” he whispered, his voice somehow loud enough for Gwen to hear. _Magic_ , she realised. “I miss you so much. But I can’t- I can’t come back. Everything reminds me of _him_.” And before Gwen could do anything else, Merlin was gone.

He’d known it would be a mistake, attending Gwaine’s funeral. The risk of him being seen, and being recognised, had been far too great. But Merlin had never been one for resisting his heart’s desire (his relationship with Arthur was proof enough of that), and he hadn’t been able to stay away. To be seen by _Gwen_ , though… the look on her face, one of both hope and desperation, had broken Merlin’s heart all over again.

Merlin did eventually go see his mother, when he’d finally found the strength and the willpower to leave Avalon and Arthur. She had, of course, already heard about the death of the King of Camelot- the entire village had. So when Merlin arrived, they didn’t need words. He just stumbled into her arms and she held him to her chest, letting him cry again. Then she took him inside and feed him, even though nothing had any flavour for him anymore. But Merlin had barely eaten since Arthur’s death, and he desperately needed the food.

Merlin stayed with his mother for as long as he could bear. He barely talked at all. Even when his mother asked him questions, he only gave one-word answers. He barely moved, either. Whenever his mother asked him to do something, he would do it (without saying anything), but then he would return to the same place in his mother’s house and just sit there, holding his knees to his chest. Hunith so desperately wanted to help her son, but she knew there wasn’t anything she could do. There was only one person who could help Merlin, now, and he was dead.

Eventually, being in Ealdor became too much for Merlin. He had no idea how long he’d been there for, nor did he really care (being immortal could do that to you). But one night, when Merlin was lying awake as usual, the memories of being in Ealdor with _Arthur_ grew too strong, and too overwhelming. It was all he could think about. And so Merlin got to his feet, and he ran. He almost stumbled and fell when he ran past the house that Will used to live in, but with one regretful pang he kept going.

Merlin counted himself lucky that the entire village was sleeping, otherwise he was certain someone would stop him. In this case, his flight from the village was unimpeded, and he was far away before his mother would even notice he was gone. He hated leaving her without a word, without an explanation, but Merlin knew that it was necessary. He sincerely hoped she would find his note, though: _when Albion’s need is greatest, he will rise again. And I will be there when he does._

Merlin hadn’t even paid attention to where he was running, but soon he found himself back at Avalon. Of course. He couldn’t leave; he could never leave. Arthur was here. He may have been dead, or sleeping, or whatever you would call this situation, but he was _here_. So Merlin wasn’t going anywhere.

Some part of Merlin sensed when his friends died. It felt like something had gone missing from the world- a loss not as big as when he’d lost Arthur, but one he still felt. First to go was Gaius, of course. Merlin had cried for ages after that one, just lying on the shore for hours, a storm brewing overhead as Merlin’s magic ran loose. Then his mother died, and Merlin felt guilty once more. He hadn’t meant to leave her the way he did. He could only hope that she had found his note. Next to go was Percival, and then it was Leon and Gwen, both at the same time. Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them had gotten married after Arthur’s death. But it didn’t matter. Now they were gone too.

And Merlin was alone.

After his friends had died, Merlin had started trying to figure out how much time had passed since his heart had been torn in two (well, since Arthur had died, but they were the same thing). He knew that was dangerous, and stupid, and it would probably drive him crazy, but he had to do it. He just had to.

It had been forty-one years, twenty-five days and four hours, Merlin finally figured out. He knew it had been a long time- even though he could prevent it, he had allowed his body to age, slowly becoming that wizened old man he’d once used as a disguise. He had no one to be young for now, anyway. That face was for Arthur and Arthur alone.

Speaking of Arthur… Merlin could feel a _presence_ in the lake, which started not long after he’d figured out exactly how long it had been since the king’s death. At first he had thought it was Arthur rising again, and his heart had pounded in his chest, but it did not turn out to be him. Merlin had felt like his heart was breaking all over again, but then a thought hit him: what if it _was_ Arthur? What if it was Arthur, in Avalon, trying to reach out to Merlin and tell him not to be sad anymore, not to cry, because one day he’d be coming home?

“For you, Arthur,” Merlin whispered, looking out over the still lake. “For you, I’d do anything. Including wait forever.”

Merlin spent the next several hundred years by Avalon, talking to Arthur, telling him things, and imagining that Arthur was talking back, calling him a clotpole and an idiot and all manner of other insults that become terms of endearment. Time passed around Merlin, and occasionally he had to leave for a time, just in case somebody noticed the strange old man _always_ sitting by the lake and asked questions, but he _always_ came back. Just like Arthur would one day.

And so the servant, the warlock, one side of the coin sat waiting on the shores of Avalon for the Once and Future King, the other side of his coin, his _heart_ to return. Because one day, he would. And Merlin would be right here when it happened.


End file.
